


The Apprentice

by Bear_shark



Series: Born of Necessity Series [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Fairy Tale Elements, Gen, Goblins, Non-Canonical Character Death, Oracles, Orcs, Prequel, Visions, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-23
Updated: 2019-01-23
Packaged: 2019-10-10 23:34:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17435615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bear_shark/pseuds/Bear_shark
Summary: The humans and trolls would not understand. They didn’t know you could love a people as much as any woman, more even than your own children. Humans loved small and leanly with none of the brotherhood of the orc. Joseph loved the orc, their warrior ways, fierce and noble. Loved them in his bones and with the singing fire in his blood.Joseph sees the destruction of his kind coming and seeks help from the Oracle.





	The Apprentice

**Author's Note:**

> Several people have asked me for an epilogue to Born of Necessity where Steve and Bucky live happily ever after. I tried to write that and my brain decided writing the story of Steve's father, Joseph, seeking the advice of the Oracle was going to happen first. Oh, brains. This is set before Steve and Bucky are born. 
> 
> Thanks, as always, to @kat-atomic for helping me figure out Joseph's motivations. 
> 
>  

The humans and trolls would not understand. They didn’t know you could love a people as much as any woman, more even than your own children. Humans loved small and leanly with none of the brotherhood of the orc. Joseph loved the orc, their warrior ways, fierce and noble. Loved them in his bones and with the singing fire in his blood.

The orcs were children of fire, forged by the great god Hestas. Hammered like swords until they were the perfect fighters, efficient and brutal—all to bring glory to Hestas. But Hestas was a cruel master; he enslaved his children and forced them to fight the demon hordes whose land he had stolen. Many brave soldiers died, forced onward by Hestas’ whip, but in the end, the orc prevailed, slaying the demons, and then turning their might upon Hestas and cutting off his limbs so he perished slowly. It was the last day the orcs had use for gods.

For hundreds of years, the orc journeyed forth, conquering the monsters of the world, building a vast kingdom, and enslaving the pixies to bend magic to their will. But Hestas, in his malice, had muttered evil with his dying breath, cursing the orc to come to ruin. Families bore fewer females each year, and the number of orcs diminished. They faced incursions from giants to the north, and the humans were an increasing mob.

The King’s mind was ruined by the love of pixie dust, and Joseph could not convince him of the imminent demise of his people. Joseph saw it in his dreams, flashes of his people returned to slavery now with human masters, giants laying waste the King’s palace, the fire that forged them destroying them. Something itched behind his eyes. A threat. A shadow. The end of his people was coming, and he didn’t know how to save them.

Broad shouldered and thickly muscled, Joseph had been the best orc warrior in the kingdom. His green skin bore the scars of many battles, and he sharpened the fangs that pushed out his bottom lip. Joseph wore his hair in a well-oiled brown braid and donned ornate leather armor with a long, jagged sword, creating a fearsome visage. As the foremost general in the King’s army, he was responsible for the protection and expansion of their lands.     

When he awoke one night, drenched in sweat and gasping for breath, visions of dead orc in his mind, he decided he had to act. The King would do nothing, and no orc dared aid him without the King’s support. Desperate, Joseph turned to the first enemy of his people: the gods. He needed a glimpse of the future, some proof of the doom he foresaw, and guidance on a path forward. He needed to visit the Oracle of Rakkesh Mountain.

The path to the base of the mountain took a week to traverse. He wore his armor through the countryside, not wanting to tempt bandits to steal his things, but left it at the foot of the mountain when he arrived at midday. He’d been told that the Oracle turned people away if they were dressed formally or too richly. He’d have to petition his case, to make her see the merit and truth of his need. He knew he could do it.

The mountain itself looked barren, surrounded in a white haze. The path up was all grey ash and harsh rock. He couldn’t take his riding hound without damaging the beast’s paws, and so Joseph left him behind.

He’d lived at sea level his whole life and climbing the mountain tested his vigor. His lungs felt tight, his pulse loud. Joseph rested on a large boulder, providing hardly any shade. Too late he realized he should have camped at the base of the mountain and taken the path at first light. No matter. He would have to camp on the bare edge at least one night. There was no getting around it. He adjusted his pack where it was cutting into his shoulders. The sun beat down through the haze, hot on his neck. He draped his scarf over his head to block it out.

Joseph continued on, but his knees protested the continued uphill. The day grew dark, and he had not found a place to settle his head. He walked until he could barely see his feet in front of him and feared his misstep may cast him down the mountain. He lay a ground cloth on the trail and lay on it diagonally. There was not enough room to set up his tent, but he used his rope to strap himself down. It would be uncomfortable, but it would prevent him from rolling off the mountain in his sleep.

Joseph dreamt that night that all he loved was torn apart, his heart ripped from his chest and carried away still beating. He awoke with a start, thrashing against the ropes he had used to bind himself to the ground. He had slept less than five hours by his guess, but he decided to start his day, as he felt unsettled by his dream.     

Joseph arrived at the temple at dusk, covered in sweat and long out of water. The temple was a simple building carved out of rock and lovingly maintained. There were steps leading between columns in the front and inside a smooth floor. It had none of the pageantry or ornateness that Joseph had expected. The front wall had a simple carving of the goblin goddess Olivia, rubies in her hair. The rubies glowed out, the only source of clarity on this haze covered mountain.

Joseph sat down heavily on the steps and waited. After a few minutes, a goblin female approached him. She wore a simple grey tunic and a scarf that covered her hair. She held out a cup of water with both hands.

Joseph usually required someone to test his food and drink before he ate it, but he slurped down this water quickly. He could not afford to be cautious. “Where are your masters?” he said.

The woman did not reply, ducking her head. She left and returned with a pitcher, and Joseph allowed her to refill his cup.

“I wish an audience with the Oracle,” he said.  

Another goblin woman approached him. “She will not speak to you,” she said. “Ergala has sworn her patronage to the goddess Olivia, and will only speak to the Oracle and me.” The woman was older than Joseph with greying hair around her sharply pointed green ears, and she wore the simple clothes as the other woman. “My name is Orlatz. I am the Oracle’s apprentice.”

He would have preferred to meet her standing tall and proud, perhaps intimidate her into letting him speak to the Oracle sooner, but he was exhausted from his journey. The woman sat beside him on the Temple stairs. Joseph dug through his bag and pulled out a bag of gold. He dropped it on the ground in front of his feet.

“I have coin to pay, gems, too, if the Oracle requires it. I will see her tonight.”

Orlatz bent over and picked up the bag. She handed it back to Joseph who took it in surprise.

“I wish to speak with the Oracle,” he said, pressing the bag back into her hands.

“I understand,” Orlatz said. She did nothing and Joseph felt himself growing restless. How dare she make him wait? He hated the haughtiness of the goblins; they were beloved by their goddess and made sure other races knew it.

“Get her or I will throw you down the mountain.”

Orlatz did not flinch. “It is late in the day, young orc. Perhaps in the morning, you will remember how to make requests.” She stood, her knees making an audible creak. “Ergala will bring you a blanket. You may sleep inside the front of the temple but do not go down the hallway or disturb the Oracle. If you need to make waste, Ergala will show you where to go.”

Orlatz retired somewhere inside, and Joseph fished food out of his bag and ate on the steps of the temple. The haze was thickest up here; the mountain was as clouded as his mind.

Still, he couldn’t force the Oracle to share her visions. Begrudgingly, he prepared himself for bed. Despite his fatigue, he slept fitfully and thrashed in his sleep, crying out. His nightmares had worsened as he neared the mountain, and now in the temple, they were more vivid and terrifying. He dreamed he would return to his people with no message. That they would fall to ashes, felled by an unseen foe, and he had done nothing to stop it, had wasted his chance to intervene because of his pride.

Unable to go back to sleep, he wrapped the blanket around himself and waited on the temple steps. Ergala came to him again at first light, offering pieces of unleavened bread and another cup of water.

“Are your dreams disturbed as well?” he asked her.

She tilted her head to the side as though surprised to be spoken to again. She smiled at him, but did not respond and returned to the temple.

Orlatz did not come to him until mid-morning.

“Where have you been?” he snapped. “I need to speak to the Oracle.”

Orlatz carried a broom and handed it to him. “Clean this room.”

Joseph looked at the broom like it was a snake. He had not had to clean his own quarters in years. When Joseph did not take the broom, Orlatz leaned it against the wall and retired down a back hallway of the temple. Joseph gritted his teeth. If the old woman needed him to sweep, he would sweep.

He swept the corners of the main room, even knocking down the cobwebs in one of the corners. How the spiders made the journey up this mountain he did not know. He swept the dirt down the steps and onto the ground, then he returned to sitting. He hated being idle, his thoughts filled with creeping dangers when he sat still.

Orlatz returned in the evening looking relaxed and well rested. Joseph was again waiting on the steps, and she sat beside him.

Joseph swallowed his discomfort. “If it pleases you,” he said with his best attempt at deference, “I would like the honor of meeting with the Oracle.”

Orlatz shrugged. “Who cares for my pleasure? Certainly not the Oracle. She is a cruel woman.”

“You hate her then?” Joseph said.

“I love her more than my own mother,” Orlatz said.

Joseph leaned his head in his hands. Nothing made sense on the damned mountain. “Do you think she will hear my request?”

“What have you to give?’

“I showed you my gold.”

“The Oracle cares little for gold. Or food. Or pleasure. She will want something different.”

“What would she want?” Joseph had nothing else to give.

Orlatz stood. She stretched her arms over her head, her spine cracking into place. “Think on it tonight, young one. Perhaps tomorrow—”

“No, please,” Joseph said, reaching for her and then abruptly dropping his hands when he realized the impropriety of his action. “I don’t have that long to wait.”

Orlatz raised a bushy eyebrow. “You will get a view of the future, it has not happened yet.”

Joseph bit his tongue to keep from snapping. “I don’t mean to be disrespectful. I am afraid—”

“Ah,” Orlatz said. “Fear. The Oracle might like that.”

“She’d like that I’m afraid?”

Orlatz shook her head. She undid her long gray braid slowly. “No. But the fears of a powerful orc general might be a price she would accept.”

Joseph didn’t know how she knew who he was, she hadn’t even asked his name, but he didn’t question it. “Yes. I will tell her my fears. They may be baseless, but I will share them.”

Orlatz ran her fingers through her kinked hair, pulling in the wisps along her temples and brow. She redid the braid slowly with sure gnarled fingers. By the time she was done, Joseph had his fists clenched with impatience.

“I will tell her,” she said. Orlatz went through a tunnel at the back of the temple and did not return.

At noon the next day, an old goblin woman came into the room with Orlatz behind her. The woman was gaunt, whether by illness or choice, Joseph did not know. She was stooped over, white-haired with thick wrinkles on her skin. She walked slowly without the aid of a cane.

“I am the Oracle,” she announced.

“Thank you for meeting me,” Joseph said, bowing slightly. “My name is—”

“Yes. I know.”

Joseph hated being interrupted, but he let it pass. “What is your name?”

The Oracle laughed dryly. “I am the Oracle. I gave up my name in the service of Olivia.”

“What should I call you?”

“Oracle,” the woman said gruffly. Orlatz left and returned with two small cushions, one for herself and the Oracle. The Oracle sat down and snapped her fingers for Joseph to do the same. “My apprentice has told me your price. Are you still willing to pay it?”

“I am.”

“Good,” the Oracle said. “Tell me.”

Joseph glanced at Orlatz, chagrined that multiple people would be hearing his fears. “I am afraid that one of the other races will destroy the orc. I don’t know whom. Perhaps the giants, or the pixies, maybe even humans.”

“You don’t speak truthfully,” the Oracle said, looking in the middle distance.

Joseph clenched his teeth. He preferred not to dissemble, but he didn’t trust her. “Well sighted. I do not worry about the pixies.”

“Nor the giants.”

“I fear some of them,” Joseph protested. “But you are right, I worry more about humans.” He hadn’t realized it fully until he said it. He hated that she had known something about him before he knew it about himself. He didn’t tell her about the dwindling number of orc women, that was not a shareable secret.

The oracle folded her fingers together and stared at him. The color of her eyes had turned white, many long years as an oracle slowly turning her blind. She stared at him for several long minutes. At length, she said, “I have determined that you must participate in the ritual to see the future.”

“This is not what I was told would happen,” Joseph said.  

The Oracle wrinkled her nose. “You will partake of the herbs, and we will share the vision.”

Joseph grimaced. “Speak the truth old woman, why?”

The apprentice huffed at her master being addressed thusly, but the Oracle remained did not seem to notice. “You will not believe me if I tell you my vision, only if you see it with your own eyes.” She sighed peevishly. “Either you accept my terms or you go back. What choose you?”

Joseph clenched his jaw. It was too late to go back now. It would look like failure to the King, like cowardice. “I’ll do as you ask.”

The apprentice hurried out of the room and returned with a bowl of grey colored mush, a stick of incense and an empty bucket. Ergala was close behind her with towels and a pitcher of water.

“Do as I do,” the Oracle said. She reached her hand in the paste and swallowed a sizable lump, licking the remainder off her fingers. Joseph followed suit, feeling unexpectedly squeamish. He had killed more men than he could count, smelled the blood and piss of death, but the odor of this mush turned his stomach.

It tasted like nothing as he put it in his mouth, but the aftertaste lit up his cheeks like they were being stung by raza flies. The old woman took another bit of mush, a whole handful this time, and swallowed it down in one wet suck. Joseph’s hand trembled but he did the same. He was being poisoned, he was sure of it. His eyes began to water, sweat covered his body. The Oracle remained calm, shoveling mush in and Joseph matching her bite for bite.

The apprentice lit the incense, something sweet but sharp smelling like burnt cinnamon. It made his eyes itch, until they began to water freely. The skin around his nostrils felt irritated, the corners of his mouth.  He was a champion among orc now crying and drooling while this devil goblin made him suffer.

“You mean to kill me,” he ground out. His tongue felt thick, his face swollen.

The Oracle shrugged. “Whether you live or die is not my concern nor my decision.”

He made to grab for her but his arms moved sluggishly then not at all. It seemed to him that there were two Oracles and then three and all of them were mocking him. Laughing.

“I’ll kill you,” he groaned, the words garbled.

“I have no doubt,” the Oracle replied.

The room began to spin fast circles, and Joseph threw up. He felt the wetness go down his chest. He threw up again, this time Ergala caught it with her bucket.

“Continue to eat,” the Oracle commanded. Her voice seemed to come from nowhere and everywhere. He saw only stars. He felt a calloused finger tap on his mouth.

“I will feed you,” Orlatz said. “Do not bite.”

Joseph let his jaw fall slack, swallowing once Orlatz had shoveled mush onto it.

“Drink,” she said, holding a metal cup to his lips. He did. It felt like relief, like redemption, like the end to his suffering, and then he felt fire down his mouth into his chest and stomach, as though his whole chest was in flames. Was this what immolation felt like? His body would be charred to ash.

“Eat,” Orlatz said. “You are falling behind.”

Joseph would have stabbed her if he could have moved his arms. He didn’t know why he was obeying her. Orlatz pressed her thumb on the cleft of his chin and pushed his jaw open. She shoveled more in his mouth. He felt like a goose being force-fed and fattened. She closed his mouth, and he struggled to swallow.

“One more sip,” she said. She brought the cup to his mouth and tipped it up. Most of it fell down his front. “Swallow,” she said, slapping the side of his face. Joseph’s tongue moved sluggishly, but he was able to swallow.

He fell back heavily and someone hurried to soften his fall so that his head didn’t hit the hard concrete. He heard the sound of whistling or a scream. Perhaps it was his own screaming. He couldn’t test his mouth or move his arms. His eyes were open but unseeing. Blankness. Sheer whiteness. He had the sensation of standing over the edge of a cliff. Teetering, and then falling as someone came behind him and pushed.

In falling, he felt peace. He would die. He had done the best he could. He would die having tried to save his people. He dropped almost until he hit the earth and then was pulled back up like there was a string attached to his navel jarring him upward. From his vantage up high, the whole world snapped into focus. His home, Crested City, and the King’s Northern Castle dotting the landscape. Small human hideaways in the mountains. He fell down to the earth and this time he saw humans fashioning weapons more deadly than arrows or spears. Rapidly firing, steel tips, capable of slaying many foes at once. He was pulled upward and this time the glory of Crested City was dimmed, beginning to crumble, encroached on by humans spreading out and burning as they went. They tore down the trees in their path, dammed up the rivers.

He fell down, this time he saw orcs dead and rotting, Crested City in ruins, men had taken it over, forced the orcs into servitude, trained the giants to do their bidding. He rose up again and this time all the world was fire, as though Hestas had reclaimed his children and dragged them to the afterlife to suffer. All the earth was machine and weapons, the walls of his city torn down. The scene faded to fire, consuming him, his people, everyone he loved. He cried out. He wept. He raged. The scene faded to black.

Joseph vomited in a bucket. His whole body convulsed as he gagged. He curled onto his side exhausted, and someone pushed his hair away from his face and cleaned his cheek with a cool cloth.

“You must drink,” Orlatz said. She helped him sit up and held a cup up to him. He drank again hesitantly. His eyes felt swollen shut, his lips dry. How long he had been passed out, he didn’t know. He shivered, freezing with dried sweat on his body. Dimly he became aware of someone else vomiting, perhaps the Oracle herself. Orlatz made him drink one more time then covered him with a thick blanket and bid him rest. He fell immediately to sleep.

He awoke the next morning with a start. Orlatz and the Oracle were gone and the room was clean. His mouth felt dry as burned leaves and he rubbed his eyes to get the sick out of them. One of the goblins had left him a pitcher of water and a cup, and he drank it down eagerly.

He still had so many questions. “Speak to me,” he called out hoarsely. When no one answered, he stumbled down a hallway at the back of the temple leaning on the wall for support.

The Oracle was sitting on a small bed wrapped in a thin, worn blanket. Her green skin looked paler than before, her lips chapped. She looked two steps away from death.

“They don’t worship Olivia anymore,” the Oracle said, as though she and Joseph had been mid-conversation. “The goblins. They’ve taken her riches, but they don’t worship. Fewer and fewer. Do you know what it’s like to be one of the last ones to worship your people’s gods?”

“The orcs killed their god,” Joseph said, voice sounding cracked and rusty. He sat beside her on the small pallet. “Hestas enslaved us. Used us for slaughter and tortured us. We killed him.”

The Oracle closed her eyes. “Olivia will kill me. The ceremony, it is eating me away inside. Normally, an oracle would only do this task for five years, but I have done it for thirty. There is nothing left inside me but dust and ash. I am as dead as this mountain.”

“Then why do you do it?” Joseph said, feeling a kinship for this strange woman, an intimacy he hadn’t felt before.

“None but my apprentice have come to take my place. And she can’t become the Oracle until she has an apprentice. It’s not written, you understand, our ways. It’s passed down from Oracle to apprentice, has been for hundreds of years.”

Joseph sat in silence beside her, still feeling weak and uncertain. Exhausted. “Do you know how I may save my people?”

The Oracle cracked open an eye. “Yes.”

Joseph waited for her to elaborate, but she seemed to be searching his face for answers. “Speak, old woman.”

“Exile yourself. Never speak to an orc again.”

Joseph felt a tight squeezing in his chest. He loved his people; he couldn’t be apart from them. “You may as well ask me to cast myself off this mountain.”

The Oracle closed her eyes again. “Aye, that’d do it, too.”

“How can you be so glib with my life? I’m asking you for help. I have humbled myself for days, slept on the floor, shared my fears, and partaken in your rituals. I have done everything you asked. Help me.”

The Oracle’s smiled at him sadly. “It is hard. Being abandoned by your people. Alone in your love for them. But if you love them, you will do what’s right.”

Joseph stood up in the room and paced back and forth. It couldn’t be. The Apprentice had said the Oracle was cruel. She was playing with him. Working him to her ends. “Why are you saying this?”

“Because you are like me. Alone. Beyond hope. And, in this, I think we share an understanding. I will die for my people.”

“Don’t compare your love for mine,” Joseph snarled. “The Orc are a proud warrior people. Goblins live in caves, in squalor. You have no real use but to soften up enemy lines.” It was a cruel thing to say, but it clearly missed its mark as the Oracle seemed unperturbed. When she didn’t respond, just looked at him kindly, he broke into tears. “I don’t understand. I was meant to come here. You said it yourself. If not to save my people than why?”

The Oracle reached forward and squeezed his hand, her one gesture of kindness in all her time here. “To become Orlatz’ apprentice.”

Joseph recoiled, pulling his hand back. “I’ll not clean up other people’s sick and sweep floors and live in poverty for the rest of my life.”

“That’s not it. That’s not why you hate it so.”

“The gods are useless!” Joseph exploded. “You’ve had love your whole life, you wouldn’t understand. I am what I made myself. To depend on a god, to wait on her now. Hestas enslaved us. I won’t enslave myself.”

“Service and slavery are two different things,” the Oracle said, leaning forward so her heavy gray hair fell around her shoulders. “It’s the choice. That’s the difference. Think of it. You will see all of the future, mysteries beyond imagining. You will usher in a new age.”

“An age without orc.”

“That’s not up to you,” she said. “All that is up to you is to walk the path before you. Harken, it is in front of your feet even as we speak.”

It was too much. He couldn’t take it. “No! I came here to save my people. I love them!”

“Do they love you back?” she said. She ran a gnarled finger over a scar on his face. “Who gave you this?”

Joseph turned from her. Her touch too cold, corpse-like. “I won this in battle. Like all my scars. The orc are warriors.”

“And who made you that way?”

“Hestas. We were forged for one purpose.”

“Why do you follow the will of the one who enslaved you, long dead and never mourned? Olivia will welcome you like one of her children. It is all here for you if you would but take it.”

“No,” Joseph growled. “I will return to my people and be a hero among them.”

The Oracle scoffed. “They will not love you. And when you are killed, you will be forced to rejoin Hestas in the afterworld. Is that what you want?”

“No!”

“Why do you waste your love on a god that hates you?”

Joseph was filled with rage. Had he been loving the one who had enslaved his people? Passively worshiping him with his warrior ways? “The orc broke free. We make our own way.”

“The orc are as enslaved now as they were before,” she said. “You cannot change that. Your path is right here.”

“Who are you to tell me what to do?” Joseph said, his voice pitching low and dangerous. “Why don’t you want me to warn my people?”

“They are not your people,” the Oracle said, not backing up. “You are one of Olivia’s children. Have been since you were born. Do you think any other orc would have come here?”

“Perhaps I should warn them and come back.”

“You will never return.”

“You don’t think the orc deserve to be saved,” he said, grabbing her tunic by the neck and pulling her forward. “You think they deserve to die.”

“All you try for will turn to ash,” she whispered. “Everyone you love will betray you.”

“Liar.” Joseph snarled, leaning over until they were face to face. A single tear escaped the Oracle’s eye, and it was that--the compassion she held for him more than her harsh words--that broke him open. He reached a thick hand around her neck and snapped it.

Immediately he felt lighter. Clearer than he had for days. He’d faced down dragons in his path, slain the centaur at Amareth. He’d won the all-tourney championship five years in a row. Now he was a general, revered among the soldiers. He was the hero his people needed; he would save them.

He felt stronger, more certain of himself as he strode down the hallway in search of Orlatz. He found her huddled in a room with Ergala. She was terrified, but when Joseph took a step into the room, she threw herself between him and the servant.

“She knows none of this,” she said. “She serves us food and water, cleans only.”

Joseph admired Orlatz, clever and loyal, thought the Oracle hadn’t deserved it. “Work for me. Make the visions come but only for the Orc.”

“We are bidden to share the message of Olivia with any who seeks us,” Orlatz replied, voice small.

“I have killed the Oracle, perhaps you felt it?”

“I could have let you die,” she said. “But I thought you should be given the chance to do good. To change.”

Joseph had never had romantic love for a man or woman, but he felt a surge of affection for this old goblin. He reached his thumb out and ran it down her cheek. “A mercy for a mercy then. Swear you will no longer bring about the visions.”

Orlatz looked as though she might be ill. “I can’t do that.”

Joseph traced his hand down her jaw until he took hold of her throat.

“Please,” she said. “If I could but write a few things down. This is all passed from oracle to apprentice. If I die, none will know how to speak to Olivia. The goblins have turned away from her. It will be lost, the sacred knowledge.”

“I can’t risk it,” Joseph said. He moved swiftly this time, unburdened by conscience. Snapping Orlatz’s neck was easy, like breaking a twig in his hand. He turned to Ergala. “Fetch me supper. I need strength to save my people.” He glanced at Orlatz and then back to the servant. “You wouldn’t understand.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!!!


End file.
